Whitestar 97
by gythia
Summary: This series is a sequel to the Dark Horse series, which is a sequel to the Loribond series. B5/ Time Yarns crossover.
1. Chapter 1

Whitestar 97

This series is a sequel to the Dark Horse series, which is a sequel to The Loribond series.

Chapter One: Windsword

Firuun stretched and slid off his sleeping platform. It was strangely quiet and empty in the dark room. He was no longer used to having a room of his own. It had not been very long since he became chief engineer and first officer of Whitestar 97, but he was already accustomed to the Whitestar's communal sleeping room.

He was used to hearing the crew breathing. He was used to the subtle purr of the hybrid Vorlon/Minbari engines through the seamless, living deck.

He went outside. It was a crystal dawn: cold, bluish, crisp; the kind of air that no starship ever had, no matter what kind of special scent mix the yard dogs pumped in.

But Clan Imbalo's stronghold did not refract rainbows. Like most of Minbar's cities, it was carved out of natural crystalline rock, but it had not been finished as a cut and polished jewel, for aesthetic effect, at least not from the outside. The inside of the fortress was sparely beautiful, and the corridors glowed from within, from lights set in the crystal walls. But the outside looked like nothing so much as a mine; a few openings in a hillside that was otherwise left natural. Sedges and grasses covered the hill, and it was pierced by triangular and diamond-shaped doors, windows, skylights, and arrow slits.

Firuun had lived here as a child, but he had forgotten about the arrow slits. This fortress was old. Very old.

Firuun saw he was not the first one up after all. A tall young male stood in the road, playing with a broom as if it were a Pike. Perhaps he was dreaming of the old days, as Firuun often had as a youth.

"Sharn."

The young warrior turned, and dropped the broom as if in embarrassment. Joy and fear flickered over his face.

"It's alright, Sharn. Come to me," Firuun invited.

The youth grinned and ran to Firuun. They each put a hand to the other's heart, the Minbari equivalent of a hug. Sharn was only a few centimeters shy of Firuun's height.

Sharn struggled to enunciate one of the few words he could say in his native tongue, the language of the warrior caste. "Father."

"I'm sorry, Sharn. I never meant—" Firuun shook his head. It was no use trying to tell Sharn he did not mean to reject the boy. The truth was that he had. That he could even think of trying to say otherwise only proved he had been hanging around with humans too much.

"There is too much to say," Firuun said. And, he silently added in the privacy of his mind, Sharn would not understand any of it.

So they went inside, and ate a bland breakfast of local grains, and waited for the others to wake up.

"Dilis!" Firuun boomed in surprise and delight. "You're here too!" He jumped up and gave his daughter a heart-touch. "Last I heard you were serving as ship's doctor on the Blood Claw."

"I came home for the ceremony."

"What ceremony?"

"The one that will no doubt be performed, now that you're finally here," she said tartly, but smiled as she spoke. "Calann contacted the whole clan when he found out you were taking home leave at last."

"Why?"

Dilis laughed. "You honestly don't know? Father, father, do you know how long the Windswords have been out of favor? And you brought us not only to prominence but popularity, and garnered a clan alliance with Delenn of Clan Mir, of all people, all with one brilliant stroke. Why, you're a celebrity! With all castes. And now you're the first officer of a Whitestar, too. Is there any doubt what Calann means to do?"

Firuun's eyes bugged out. "No," he whispered.

The elderly clan head of the Windswords gathered everyone together in the heart of the fortress, deep in the hillside. The hexagonal room had been carefully split out of the crystal of the mountain long ago, by members of the Windswords whose calling had been worker caste. Even today, there were some, and they were gathered here as well, a few people in bright civilian silks amid a sea of black warrior caste armor.

Over his armor, Calann wore a sword belt of simple brown leather, unadorned and serviceable as the brown leather scabbard, and the sword within it, of plain grey metal and a handle of the antler of a wild beast that had been extinct for 5,000 years. At the time the Wind Sword had been forged, such animals had been common on Minbar.

Another clan elder stood by, carrying a matched set of replicas of the Wind Sword.

Firuun knew what was coming. He wanted to say, don't go, Calann. But Calann was very old, and it was his right.

Calann drew the most precious relic of Clan Imbalo, the Wind Sword. It gleamed coldly in the light coming from many sources in the crystal walls like little stars.

"I am going to the sea." At Calann's words, some of his clansmen bowed their heads in grief. "I name Firuun my successor. Is there a challenger?"

The moment stretched out tensely. There was always a challenger. Even if no one else wanted the job, someone always had to challenge. It was tradition that each new clan head had to fight to claim the Wind Sword.

"Come, Firuun." Calann motioned Firuun forwards, and he walked out in front of his fellow Windswords. The clan elder handed him one of the copies of the Wind Sword.

Firuun had carried a denn'bok, a Minbari Fighting Pike, around on his belt his whole adult life. He was proficient with it, but he was more of master of tools than weapons. And he had not touched a sword since his early training in the traditions of Clan Imbalo, before he went on to study starship engineering and entered military service.

He swung the replica experimentally, getting used to its balance, which was excellent, and its length, which was a little short for someone Firuun's size.

"Is there a challenger?" Calann repeated.

Sharn stepped out from the assembled ranks. "I."

"Sharn, no," Firuun said.

"I. Warrior," Sharn insisted. "Not. Failure. Not. I understand. Challenge."

The clan elder asked, "Is there any challenger who could actually lead the clan?"

Calann said, "No. It is a proper challenge. We have always underestimated Sharn. But he understands far more than he can say. The accident on the Rending Horn could have happened to any inexperienced hand."

Dilis stepped forward. "But it happened to Sharn. And the four people in the airlock. You know I've always defended my brother, Calann. Not that he ever needed much defending from bullies, at his size. But the elder is right. He should not be allowed to do this."

"Dilis, dear child," said Calann with a gentle smile. "Yours is a healer's heart. Always you have sought to protect Sharn. But his is the heart of a warrior."

Dilis nodded and stepped back into the group.

Sharn advanced and took the second replica from the clan elder. His face hardened, and he figure-eighted the sword in a precise, hard swish, without looking at the weapon at all. His eyes were locked on Firuun's.

He advanced in all the strength of his youth, and whirled the blade beside him once more, eyes still on his father's. In contrast to Firuun's tentative swings, there was nothing experimental about Sharn's movements.

Firuun's eyes widened in sudden fear. He had been thinking only of how he could defeat the boy without really hurting him. Now he wondered if he could beat him at all.

Firuun brought his sword up to a ready position, old training reasserting itself.

"Warrior," Sharn whispered, as if to himself. "Ultimate Warrior. Show you all."

Sharn sprang like a cat, all muscle and focus. Firuun barely blocked the attack, and the next one. Blade rang on blade.

Sharn swept Firuun's leg and uppercut to his body. Firuun barely regained his balance well enough to block.

Then Firuun's well-honed reflexes as a barroom brawler took over, canceling out his reluctance to fight his son, and he delivered a powerful left hook to the jaw.

Sharn shook it off and attacked with the sword again. Firuun blocked and counterattacked. There was no finesse in the swordsmanship of either fighter; Firuun was rusty and Sharn had never been sharp. They were both exceptionally tall and strong for Minbari, accustomed to bulling their way through fights without resorting to cleverness or technique.

Firuun had much more real combat experience, but Sharn was young and at his physical peak. For a few minutes, while the fight lasted and the swords clashed again and again, it seemed that everyone had been wrong about Sharn. He really was the Ultimate Warrior, just as Jador had promised.

But then Sharn cut Firuun's arm, and Firuun cried out. Sharn immediately reversed into a cut to the throat, a blow that could kill if it were not stopped, and Firuun's last caution fled. He stopped holding back.

Sharn had assumed Firuun's sword-arm was out of the fight for at least a few seconds, but Firuun had fought through pain many times. Sharn's belly was open and Firuun struck.

Blood appeared on Sharn's lips, and he dropped his sword in shock.

Firuun said, "It is over." He lowered his sword.

"No!" Sharn yelled, his voice bubbling horribly on his blood. He grabbed Firuun's sword by the blade, heedless of the edge cutting into his hands. "Death. Walks!" Sharn pulled the sword to an upright angle and fell on it.

Firuun let go, and caught Sharn before he could hit the floor. But it was too late. The sword had gone through his heart.

"NO!" Firuun bellowed.

He pulled out the sword and cast it away, and it rebounded off the wall. He lowered Sharn to the ground.

Dilis ran forward. "Sharn! Sharn!" She examined the wound quickly, and then she wept. "He is dead."

"What have I done?" Firuun said, kneeling by Sharn's body.

"You have done nothing, father," Dilis said through her tears. "Nothing but fail to see the truth. I have feared this for years. He wanted a way out. A way out as a warrior. This was his choice. Calann was right. I had no right to try to prevent him from doing this. He was no child. And he was more than a failed breeding program."

"Of course he was," said Firuun. "Sharn, Sharn, I am sorry."

Calann came forward and placed a hand on Firuun's head, in blessing or comfort, perhaps. "It is I who am sorry, Firuun. Not for allowing this fight; Sharn was a warrior, and he went as his choosing. Even as I do, as I go to the sea. No, I apologize for Sharn's life, not for his death. It was I who gave sanctuary to Jador. It was I who endorsed her genetics program. It was I who ripped you away from the young Star Rider you had fallen in love with."

Firuun pushed Calann's hand away. "That was long ago. My love faded over the years. All your mistakes are dead now, Calann. Stepis left this life as a warrior as well, although she did not go at her will. I hated her, as you know, but even that has faded over time. It is a faded scar now. I no longer even hate Jador. For Dilis is a product of the breeding program as well."

Dilis wiped her tears and said, "I doubt that I'm what she was after either. Though I admit my first interest in science and medicine was because of her. The last thing she was working on before we threw her out was a true horror, father. Have you heard of it? The anti agapic?"

"I heard. The Vorlons killed her, you know. This is not the time for such discussions, my daughter. We must hold the rites for Sharn."

"Yes," said Calann. "But first you must take the Wind Sword." He unbuckled the sword belt and held its contents out to Firuun.

"I don't want it. I have paid too high a price."

"It is yours, nonetheless," said Calann. "You did not kill him, Firuun."

"I know." Firuun sighed as he got to his feet. He took the Wind Sword, buckled on the sword belt, and drew the Sword. "In the time before Valen, challenges always ended in blood. The Wind Sword drank the life of its clan." Firuun carefully reached up with one finger and smeared Sharn's blood on the ancient blade. "I have always looked back to the time of the clan wars. This is one tradition I never wanted to renew."

End of Chapter One


	2. Chapter 2

Whitestar 97

Chapter 2: the Prophet

It was just a flash of movement in the crowd. But for a moment Carla's breath caught in her throat. There is no danger, she told herself. No weapon, no threatening movement, nothing.

It was only a glimpse of a Centauri hairstyle.

"Oh no you don't," Carla mumbled to herself. "You're not spending the next fifteen years getting over a fear of Centauri, like you spent fifteen years getting over fear and hate of Minbari. No way. You know what to do now."

The Anla'shok training had taught her to confront her fears. But she would never have tried to join the Anla'shok if she had not already made friends with Firuun. That was what had finally wiped the fear away.

"I have to make friends with a Centauri. As soon as possible."

Carla could not think of any convenient place to meet one on Minbar, though. She resolved to keep her eyes open and take any opportunity that came her way.

"A shower! Oh, Firuun, I could kiss you! Except I can't reach."

Firuun laughed. "I'm glad you like it. That's not the only surprise I have for you." He beckoned her toward the forward area, away from the newly grafted engine compartment. "Too bad I couldn't get the human shower any further from the engines, but I could only add things to the section that was being replaced."

"I can't imagine how you managed to get that thing installed in the living walls. I'd think the biomechanics would reject it."

"Oh, it wasn't easy. But what are engineer friends for?" Firuun gestured her into the sleeping compartment. "This is salvage too, like the shower. I know you have trouble with the angle of the sleeping platforms."

Carla looked inside and giggled. It was a most un-Captainly sound, and she clamped down on it, but let the silly grin stay on her face.

"Bed webbing. Oh my God."

Carla tried it out. She scooted up on the platform and buckled herself into the webbing, and pulled the adjustment strap to snug it down. "It's great." She unbuckled and stood up. "When I was a Gropo, we all slept in niches with this kind of bed webbing to keep us from floating off. When an Earth warship maneuvers, it has to stop spinning, so Earth warships always go into combat in zero g."

"Oh, so that's why they had all this. The salvage yard had a ton of these web units."

Carla's smile faded. "Firuun. Did this stuff come off a wreck from the Earth-Minbari war?"

"Yes." He made a hand-spreading gesture, the Minbari equivalent of a shrug. "If nobody used it, it would just be so much space junk."

"I know. And thank you, I do appreciate it. We should suggest the Rangers supply these for all humans assigned to Whitestars."

"Speaking of crew assignments," Firuun said, suddenly serious.

"Is there a problem?"

"No. I've got us a full roster of replacements for the crew we lost in the battle. All from my clan, if you don't mind. It's simpler not to have to go around the out-way with the bureaucrats."

Carla nodded. "Who knew the Anla'shok had bureaucrats? But I guess every large organization needs its clerks and paper-pushers."

There was a pause.

Carla said, "So, what's wrong?"

"I had meant to find a place for my son. As janitor, perhaps. But, he is gone. He went the way of the warrior."

"You mean he died?"

Firuun nodded.

"Firuun, how terrible. I didn't even know you had children."

"Yes. Just a daughter left, now. She wants aboard, by the way. We already have a ship's doctor, but she is only serving in that capacity because it was the only thing that fit her skill set. Do you think we could stretch the crew capacity to fit in a science officer?"

"Sure. Of course."

"You'd probably better meet her before saying yes. She's a little odd. Years ago, in my parents generation, the Windswords gave sanctuary to Jador of the Dilgar."

"Deathwalker?"

"Yes. Among other projects, Jador instituted a program of selective breeding among my clan. The clan elders forbade me to marry the female I loved, and instead matched me with my cousin Stepis. Whom I could not stand. I went to space thinking I could get away from her, but she followed me. She followed me everywhere. It's Minbari custom for married couples to serve together on the same ship."

Firuun began walking at random in agitation, and Carla followed him out into the corridor.

"It's also custom for females to return to Minbar to give birth and raise their children. I thought I could get rid of her by giving her a child. But that only lasted a few years. She gave Sharn to her parents to raise and came back to space. By that time I had gotten a berth on the Black Star. I thought she would never be able to follow me there, because it was the flagship of the fleet and the most prestigious posting we had. But Stepis was ambitious and competent, and determined to produce the Ultimate Warrior that Jador had promised her. One day she just showed up at my quarters and moved in. It was an intolerable situation."

Their meanderings had taken them to the bridge. Firuun idly called up the display, and an image of Minbar and the local space dock appeared overhead.

"So of course I handled it the same way as before. I gave her a child, and she went home. For a few years. Then she was back. There was nothing wrong with Dilis, our daughter. But Stepis had somehow gotten the idea that I loved her, because I was willing to give her children. She was back in my cabin on the Black Star, and I could not get rid of her. Minbari do not divorce. You know that human expression, be careful what you wish for, you may get it?"

"Yes?" Carla encouraged.

"I prayed to Valen with all my heart to do something to rid me of Stepis. Anything. I did not care what. Do you know what happened the next day?"

"What?"

"Sheridan."

"Oh. Oh Firuun. You don't think you're responsible, do you?"

"No, not anymore. Not since finding out who Valen really was. There was nothing supernatural about him. He was just a human. Just another dead human."

Firuun watched a ship on the display making its way into spacedock.

"For many days, I did not know she was dead. I did not know I was the only survivor. I thought there were other Minbari prisoners in other cells, where I could not see them or hear them."

Firuun paced around the bridge.

"I feel like that now. The exact same emotions. I think I ought to be grieving. But I'm not. What I feel is not grief. It's relief. And guilt, because I do not grieve. I could not grieve for Stepis because I was glad she was dead. And now, I cannot grieve for Sharn. Because his life was an agony for him. Created to be the ultimate warrior, and kicked off his ship because he was too stupid to serve in space. If he had just been a little stupider, he would not have known the difference. But he did know, and he could never have what he wanted in life. He was my son. He was my son. And I am glad he is dead. No matter how terrible a shock it was when he died. Am I a horrible person?"

"No," Carla said. "Of course not."

"I think I am."

"I know some horrible people, Firuun. Minbari that I knew on Tifar. Trust me, you don't even compare."

End of Chapter 2


	3. Chapter 3

Whitestar 97

Chapter three: Cat Fight

Carla sat down on the bench in front of the wood-look table, across from the surprised Centauri. She gestured to his sign, which said Psychic Prophet in all three of the Minbari languages. "How much?"

The Psychic Prophet pushed a tab toward her. It was for his meals today in this fruit hut, the Minbari equivalent of a coffee house.

Carla put down some credits.

He nodded. "Give me your hand," he said in passable Minbari. He spoke the same language Carla had spoken to him, the warrior caste language, but heavily accented and with Centauri cadences.

Carla extended a hand, wondering if he were a palm reader. Apparently he was not, because he did not look at her hand, but placed his fingers over hers and closed his eyes.

He shuddered, opened his eyes and blinked at her for a few seconds before speaking. "You must go to the one planet in the universe you never wish to see again."

"That's it?" Carla asked.

He nodded. "It is not an easy road you have chosen. You walk in dark places where no one else will go."

Carla rolled her eyes. "Come on. Anybody could have figured that out just by looking at my pin."

He glanced down. "Oh. You are Anla'shok. I did not notice. The here and now is pale to me when I exert my power to See."

"If you're a real Prophet, what are you doing here? Giving readings in a fruit hut?"

"I am outcast. A male Prophet. It is not done. It is against tradition. I heard the Minbari provide for those who wish to serve, so I came. But they do not seem interested in my prophecies."

"Hmm. So, what am I supposed to do on that planet when I get there?"

"What you would do in any friendly port."

"What, get into a bar fight?"

"Yes."

"Yes? Get in a bar fight?"

"Yes."

"You're serious."

"I left my people because I believe in my gift. I am always serious about it."

"Huh. OK. So then what? After I get in the bar fight?"

"Then events will take care of themselves. You will uncover a great threat to the Alliance."

Carla nodded. "OK. Why not? I don't have an assigned patrol corridor. I could go there. Check things out. I admit this wasn't what I anticipated when I sat down here." Carla had just been thinking this would be a good way to have a conversation with a Centauri, to face down her fear of them. "Just out of curiosity, do you actually make enough money doing this to live on?"

"No. I don't know what I'm going to do. I can't See for myself. I've tried. It doesn't work. I just have to trust that there is some place for me in the galaxy where I can be of use."

"Try Tuzanor."

When he raised his eyebrows in surprise, his whole forehead moved back, flicking his array of hair like a peacock flaps his tail. "You mean become a Ranger? Would they take a Centauri?"

"They take all races."

"All Alliance races, yes. The Centauri Republic withdrew from the Alliance."

"True. But it was one of the first signatories. I think they'd give you a chance. Heck, they took a washed-up middle-aged female Earth human who's been certified insane. Why not a Centauri prophet?"

"Thank you. I will try."

Dilis took after her father. She towered over most Minbari, even the warrior caste males who made up the crew of Whitestar 97. She and Firuun were currently supervising the installation of a sealed biohazard research area. Not just the walls were clear unbreakable Imperma, but the floors and ceiling too. The ship was alive, and Dilis would not risk exposing its living biomechanics to whatever she was going to keep in there.

"Are you sure this is going to be safe?" Carla asked.

"Don't worry. I knew iso protocol by the time I was six," Dilis replied. "And anyway, I have a failsafe."

"But what about battle damage? What if the ship cracks open?"

"Then somebody's going to be sorry," Dilis said. "Don't worry, Captain, really. The failsafe is absolutely reliable. Remember, I've been experimenting with Jador's nanite plague inside my family's stronghold, on Minbar. Do you think I'd risk wiping out my own people?"

"I guess not."

"Don't worry. I grew up seeing exactly what happens to the last of her kind. Do you know why we kicked her out?"

"No."

"Because she failed. Her genetics program was junk science, her promised bioweapon could never be adapted to be harmless to Minbari, and her immortality potion was just another form of murder in disguise, meant to turn its users into cannibals. Her revenge, I suppose, for being treated like a pampered slave instead of a respected general."

Responding to something Carla had not noticed, both Dilis and Firuun snapped at one of the engineers placing a isolation door.

Dilis continued, "But she didn't invent the failsafe. She found it along with the original biotech plague she was trying to adapt. Even Jador didn't know where it came from, only that it was old. Old beyond reckoning. Older than the Dilgar, anyway."

"I still don't like the idea of turning Whitestar 97 into a plague ship."

"With the failsafe in place, it isn't any more dangerous than the jump engines. Which could do some major devastation if they were used on the ground, you know. Every time you land a jumpship on a planet, you bring with you a power that could turn the whole world inside out. Siphon the planet's molten core off into hyperspace and watch what happens to the crust. 'Quake' doesn't begin to cover it. Just for starters the loss of mass would change the gravity. Probably knock it out of orbit too."

"She's right," said Firuun. "But we don't think about that because we're used to the idea of starships."

"OK," said Carla. "You can run your experiments in your spare time. But I'm counting on you both to keep our safety topmost on your mind with this."

"It is, Captain," Dilis said. "I've been working on this for years. I'm not even going to start on my latest round of mutations until I've had a chance to study the incredible biomechanics of this ship."

"Under my supervision," Firuun said hastily.

"Of course," Dilis replied. "This ship and the nanite plague are the only two forms of really advanced alien biotech I've ever had a chance to study. I'm going to be absorbed in whatever similarities and differences I find for some time. There might be exciting applications beyond either biowarfare or starship design."

"Heading, Captain?"

Carla hesitated. She knew where she had to go; at least if she trusted the prophecy. But she was afraid to even say the word, let alone actually go there a third time. Carla sighed and squared her shoulders. That was exactly why she had to go. She had to confront her fears to make them go away.

"Tifar."

The pilot and navigator worked their consoles in silence. The Minbari did not have the tradition of acknowledging every order with a chorus of Ayes. They had been a spacefaring race for so long that their naval traditions no longer owed anything to the windswept wooden decks of seagoing ships. Humans still shouted, repeated and acknowledged as if storm and weather and the booming of cannon could carry the orders away. But the Minbari had grown to fear their own planet's seas as a haunt of pirates and a symbol of death.

It was so quiet on the bridge of Whitestar 97 that Carla could hear the ship's pulse. She was tempted to order the crew to pipe in some stirring martial music. She squelched that temptation, at least for right then. She would consult with Firuun and Khunnier about whether that was appropriate before giving such an order.

The fleeting summer of Tifar had come and gone while Whitestar 97 was in spacedock. The air was completely different now, crisp and full of the rich, earthy scent of wet leaves. Deciduous trees had evolved on this world as well, a universal strategy against a seasonal cycle that included a freezing winter. Tifar did not have spectacular fall color, its trees, shrubberies, and even flowers given more to rusts and golds than the vivid reds, oranges, and yellows of Earth trees.

But what fall on Tifar did have was a complete lack of the scent of spring on Tifar. The flowers were all dead. Soon winter would come, the white of death and the bone-aching cold. Carla had arrived on Tifar in the winter, the first time. The terrible winter that froze the blood on her pants over her wounds.

Carla shook off the memory. She walked Tifar's streets with a twinge in her knee, side by side with Firuun.

Ostensibly, they were here for a day's leave and to give Firuun and his engineers a chance to check the outer hull along the graft lines. This was just a stopover on Whitestar 97's shakedown cruise, to make sure the new aft end was holding up well and was properly integrated into the ship.

But Carla was really here to get into a barfight. It seemed crazy. So she had not even talked about the prophet with anyone, not even Firuun or Khunnier. She just set her ship down in the military airfield—which was no longer abandoned, but stirred with activity—and gone to find a spacer's bar. Or any bar.

OK, then, a fruit hut.

There were real bars in Minbar's capitol city, spacer's bars that catered to non-Minbari. But Tifar was an underpopulated colony world with no major exports, and with approximately the same degree of attraction for human tourists as a visit to Auschwitz on old Earth. Except that there was no museum, the relevant buildings were still part of a military base, and all the military areas were off limits to any human who was not a Ranger.

The FPFP had visited this world that spring, but when the propaganda speeches were over, the FPFP, the ISN, and all the other humans who had turned out for the occasion had left. Tifar had no steady market for such an alien-focused business as a purveyor of alcohol.

So the function of watering hole was served by a grimy fruit hut. Carla and Firuun sat at a table, each with a small plate of colorful local fruits. Carla was just considering how she might start a non lethal fight with a roomful of Minbari—and one table full of mixed humans other aliens off a freighter-- when the fight came to her.

A diminutive female Minbari stalked over to Carla and stood with fists clenched. She was wearing one of those rich silken embroidered dresses with the over-robe that flared at the shoulders and patterned in at the waist in a way that made her look impossibly slender, elfin and delicate as a doll.

It was an illusion, of course; Minbari might look a lot like humans, but their bone structure gave them much more mass and strength. Carla had no doubt that the little slip of a girl in front of her could toss her across the room. If Carla let her.

"You," the female Minbari growled. "I've seen you before. You haven't even completed your training yet, have you?"

"Well, no," Carla said. She still had not achieved her hyperspace pilot's rating, and she had yet to choose her third language.

The female Minbari was wearing an Anla'shok pin. "I was Anla'shok before any human. I was there when they invested Entilza Sinclair. I was there in the room on Babylon 5 when Delenn revealed the Anla'shok to Sheridan. Why do you have a ship? Where's my ship?"

Carla glanced at Firuun. "Is this a fighting ritual? Like the Denebian Slime Devil thing?"

"No, we have nothing similar," Firuun replied. "Maybe you two are about to invent one."

"Well?" the female Minbari demanded. Then she switched to English, enunciating carefully. "Who did you have to screw to get a deal like that?"

A red rage came over Carla. She shot out of her seat and punched the other Ranger right in the kisser.

The female Minbari staggered back a step, then feinted a kick, whipped around and grabbed Carla's hair. She cymbal-crashed the side of Carla's head with her fist.

Carla attacked the arm holding her hair by digging in her nails, and reached for the Minbari's throat with her other hand.

Somebody yelled "Cat fight!" in English. The humans in the room stood up to watch, placing bets, and soon some of the local Minbari were gambling too.

The female Minbari blocked Carla's attack and punched at Carla's nose, but Carla managed to turn her face to the side despite the Minbari's grip on her hair. She took the blow on the cheek.

Carla punched the Minbari in the armpit and she let go of Carla's hair. The female Minbari head-butted Carla. Crack! White and dark spaces opened in Carla's vision. So, she thought, this is why they call it seeing stars.

Something trickled into Carla's eye, and she wiped blood from her forehead. She blinked and saw her own blood on the Minbari's head bone.

Minbari females generally had less pointy head bones than the males, and some of them even filed their bones smooth on top, but this one was military caste and had the jagged structure of a warrior, despite her civilian dress.

Someone ordered, "Break it up, you two," and tried to grab Carla's arm. Whoever it was met up with a wall head-first as Firuun kept him from interfering with the fight.

Some of the interloper's friends attacked Firuun, and in a moment the whole bar—fruit hut—exploded in a general melee.

Carla tried to kick the female Minbari, but the Minbari produced a Pike from under her over robe and stuck Carla's artificial knee. The metal replacement part held, but Carla shrieked and stumbled. She crashed into a table, sending little bright fruits flying into the air. Whoever was sitting there pushed her back at her opponent with the rebounding force of a trampoline.

Carla extended her own Fighting Pike and attacked the other Ranger. Pike crashed against Pike.

Carla wondered briefly how her opponent could fight in an ankle length dress. Used to it, she supposed. Perhaps she could use the loose flapping cloth to her advantage, as the other Ranger had used Carla's hair. She shifted her Pike to a one handed grip like a javelin and grabbed for a corner of the Minbari's over robe.

Then there was the tweeing sound of an alarm, and everything went white. Stun grenade, Carla realized. That was her last waking thought for the day.

End of chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4

Whitestar Ninety Seven

Chapter four: the Colony

"I must return to Minbar to consult with the Council," Delenn announced. "While I am there I will check on the progress of the construction of our new capitol."

"What's going on?" Sheridan asked.

"It's nothing you need to be concerned about. Minbari internal politics."

"The last time you said I didn't need to know about what was going on with Minbari internal politics I ended up with permanent scars. Now what's going on."

"I have had a disturbing report from the Rangers about one of our colony worlds."

"Disturbing how?"

"A lack of obedience to central authority. It does not concern the Alliance."

"I'm not asking as the President of the Interstellar Alliance. I'm asking as your husband."

Delenn softened her expression, and her voice. "I may be away for some time. It may become necessary to visit the colony to bring them into line. Or to evacuate it. It is a minor world, its usefulness long since spent. It once had a strategic location, but no more; strategy changed with peace. It is sparsely settled, and the neglect after the withdrawal of our military has made it a magnet for malcontents and criminals. It is a problem that must be addressed." Then her voice hardened again. "By the Minbari."

"Alright, alright," he smiled and held up his hands in mock surrender. "I won't worry my pretty little head about it."

"That's better," Delenn said, not understanding the reference.

\

Carla woke up and groaned. She felt just as bad as if she had a hangover, but she had not actually gotten to drink any beer. It wasn't fair.

She sat up and looked around. She was in a circular room with one door and a whole lot of Minbari. Many of them were unconscious, some sprawled on the floor and some sitting propped up against the walls. The ones who were awake were also mostly sitting against the walls, or standing in little clumps. They were all wearing civilian clothes, and none of them were paying any attention to Carla.

"I'm in the drunk tank," Carla concluded. "Or whatever the Minbari equivalent is."

She looked around for Firuun and saw him lying nearby. She tried to get up to go to him and her knee protested sharply. She sank back down and felt her knee with her hands. It was swollen, but did not appear to be broken. Slowly and carefully, she checked its range of motion. It was going to be fine.

She started to drag herself over to Firuun across the floor, and suddenly there were hands under her arms, carrying her.

"Sorry," a female voice whispered.

Carla was set down by Firuun, and looked up to see her erstwhile opponent sitting down by the two of them in a puddle of satin skirts.

Carla saw no visible injuries on Firuun. "He seems to be breathing OK," Carla said. "I thought you Minbari couldn't sleep flat like that."

"We can, we just don't like to. I'm sorry about before. I was just trying to create a distraction to let my source slip out the back. Our sentinel had alerted me that the police were on their way. I wasn't actually trying to start a fight."

"That's OK. I was."

"What did I say?"

"Hmm?"

"I have studied the human language, and do fair enough in it to get by when I need to, but I am not fluent. After I woke up here, wondering how my simple distraction turned into a riot, I went back over what I said and I'm afraid I have insulted you badly. I know that word has many meanings. I was trying to say you must have cheated someone out of his command. I sincerely apologize if I have insulted your honor."

Carla waved a dismissive hand. "The fight's over. It served its purpose." The fact was, Carla had become enraged because it was the truth. She knew she had not earned her ship. It had been given to her as a consolation, a distraction from her troubles, a way to face her fear and kick pirate butt. Or possibly as a reward for her silence. She was not quite sure.

"My name is Chilonn."

"Carla. That's Firuun."

"If you don't mind my saying so, you too are not very inconspicuous."

Carla realized Chilonn was angling to see if they might be here to aid her intelligence gathering operation, whatever it was. Carla was just trying to work out what to say in response when Firuun woke up.

He stood up and stretched. "What happened?"

"The police threw a stun grenade," Chilonn said. "No doubt when everyone wakes up they'll come through and release anyone who is not wanted."

As Firuun stretched the muscles of his incredible physique, Carla heard herself thinking, Nice. Then she thought, Omigod, I can't believe I just had that kind of thought about a Minbari.

"Where—" Firuun started to ask. "Oh. We must be in the local jail."

Carla had realized that too, but she shivered when she heard the words out loud. She was in prison on Tifar. Again.

Carla started to say something, but there was a sound from outside the door and Chilonn said, "Hush."

A horrible feeling of compulsion came over Carla.

She recognized it at once. She had thought she would never feel that feeling again. She tried to speak and found she could not make a sound.

Panic went through her like a squall on the sea. Then it passed. It left a hollow self-disgust in its wake.

This was even worse than on the pirate base. There, she had hated her submission. But at least she knew the enemy was doing it to her deliberately. Now, she was still a puppet, but the strings were on the inside and she was sure Chilonn had no idea what she had done.

Two of the local police entered the room. Their uniforms were a tan color like the local dust. One of them had a handcomp. They began at the end of the room nearest the door, confirming identities, talking briefly with each prisoner, then escorting each one to the door, either to be released or taken to a cell by the police officers' waiting comrades.

"By the time they get to us," Chilonn said, "someone will have told them this fight began as a dispute between two Rangers over a ship. Should we stick together?"

Carla tried to respond, but she was still under the hush command. She touched her throat and her mouth, and choked back helpless tears.

"Carla? Captain?" Firuun asked. "Say something."

"Thank you, oh thank you in Valen's name, Firuun."

"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong." Carla gestured around. "I'm in a Minbari prison, that's what's wrong. It's a command. 'While you are a prisoner of the Minbari you will obey the Minbari'. He was always very careful about how he phrased his orders. But he never anticipated this situation."

"Who?" Firuun asked.

"Control. This situation has reactivated that command. As long as I'm a prisoner of the Minbari, anything any Minbari says to me has the force of a loribond command."

Firuun's eyes bugged out like a decompression victim's. He started to say something, then cut himself off.

Chilonn pressed both hands over her mouth.

The police reached their group. They processed Chilonn and let her go.

"You. Stand up." It was Carla's turn. She tried to stand, and cried out when her knee clicked ominously and pain jabbed through it.

Firuun helped her up and balanced her.

The police ran her identity through their handcomp. "Carla Punch. You are to be held on a drug violation."

"What? You arrested me for fighting."

"Yes. But we tested you on arrival. It's standard procedure. The scourge of Dream must be eliminated. The central government will do nothing, so the mayor has decreed the imprisonment of all Dream users."

"What are you talking about?"

"You have shisep in your body cells."

"Well, of course I do. That's hardly my fault, is it?"

The policeman sighed. "Let me guess. You're another of those who are going to claim someone slipped it to you at a party and you didn't know."

"And they said I was insane." Carla leaned more heavily on Firuun. He shifted his grip to put a reassuring hand on each shoulder, protectively.

Carla asked, "You do know what shisep is a breakdown product of, don't you?"

"Dream."

"Loritril."

The police exchanged a surprised glance. "Well, yes, technically, that's the chemical name," one of them said.

"Not technically," Carla said. "Really. You can't arrest me for being a loribond victim. It's not just unfair, I think it might be a treaty violation. Not that Earth's likely to make war over me, they never cared much about me before." A touch of the old bitterness was in her voice, and more than just a touch of fear.

She looked over her shoulder at Firuun and whispered, "Get me out of here."

"I will," he promised. "Once I'm back on the ship I'll have plenty of leverage."

The first police officer said, "We have our orders. Come with us."

The compulsion came over her, and Carla began walking, slowly and painfully.

"Carla, wait!" Firuun boomed suddenly.

She stopped walking.

"Will all the old commands go away if someone counterphrases you?"

A wide grin broke out on her face. "Yes! Yes, do it, quickly, before the opportunity passes!"

"Loridano."

Carla exhaled and nearly collapsed in relief. One of the police caught her before she fell. "It's over. It's really over. At last." She looked up. "Thank you, Firuun. In Valen's name, thank you from the bottom of my soul."

"Come along now," said the police. Carla went with them. Her steps were still painful, but they were free. The compulsion was gone.

End of Chapter four


	5. Chapter 5

Whitestar Ninety Seven

Chapter Five

Long ago, back on Earth, Carla had had a lot of experience with psychiatrists and their variously titled colleague-competitors. So she easily recognized and labeled what she was feeling as 'cognitive dissonance'.

On the one hand, she was finally, truly, completely free of the old loribond commands. She felt more truly free than she had since the end of the war. On the other hand, she was still in prison, and with or without loribond commands, she knew she was still going to obey the guards. There was no reason not to, and she had learned long ago, on this very planet, that noncompliance only resulted in more pain. There was nothing she could do to stop the Minbari from doing whatever they wanted to her.

Except, they did not seem to want to hurt her at all. In fact, this prison guard was carrying her, because when the police handed her off to him, he saw she was limping and promptly picked her up so she wouldn't have to try to walk. And that was what she really could not wrap her mind around. 'Kindness' and 'Minbari prison guard' did not go together.

The room he brought her into was large, well lit, and contained multiple padded slanty beds and apparati of unknown use. It must be the prison infirmary.

Her deduction was proved true when the guard deposited her on a bed and a white robed Minbari hustled over. "What did you bring me?"

"Knee injury," the guard said.

The doctor rubbed his hands under a blue steri-light. "Fine, fine. I've never had a chance to examine a human female. This is going to be fascinating."

A stab of fear went through Carla's gut. She closed her eyes and began a meditation she had learned in Anla'shok training.

\

Khunnier came in to the police chief's office. There was no desk or chairs. All the computer equipment was built into the walls.

The Chief of Police of the City of Dash sneered, "What do you want, 'Ranger'?" He said the word in English, and then spat on the floor.

"I claim jurisdiction over the case of Captain Carla Punch in the name of the Anla'shok."

"Denied."

"Local security forces are required to yield to our authority."

"I don't recognize the authority of the human-polluted Anla'shok. You ceased being a Minbari institution when you accepted non-Minbari into your ranks, and even had the gall to declare a human Entilza. And that half-human monstrosity you have now is even worse. I hear the hybrid bitch is breeding."

Shocked, Khunnier made a motion for his denn'bok, to fight for the honor of Entilza Delenn.

The police chief was faster. He drew a lethal Minbari ray gun. "Get out of my office and off my planet. Your kind's not welcome here, 'Ranger'. All of Minbar has been contaminated. Following the monster bitch. Building a whole capitol for aliens to come dictate to us. We're not going to stand for that any longer."

"That is not for you to decide. The new Grey Council—"

"Follows her too. Go on, get out of here. And take your ship with you. The military airfield is only for planetary defense forces from now on."

Khunnier strode out with as much dignity as he could muster. Now he saw why the Captain had come here. There was trouble brewing. He had to report to the Anla'shok.

\

Firuun and the bridge crew stood on the bridge. They were standing in a circle around the empty Captain's chair.

"So, they've refused to hand over the Captain, and they've ordered us to get our ship out of here," Firuun recapped.

"Yes, sir."

"My first impulse is to fly over to the jail and blow it open," said Firuun. "But that risks killing other Minbari. Or even the Captain, if we pick the wrong wall to fire on."

"If we assault the prison," Khunnier said, "we would need intelligence on where the Captain is being held. Likely points of entry, guard rotations, building plans, as much information as we can get."

"Yes. Well, Khunnier, intelligence gathering is your department. Get into some civilian clothes, and we'll set you down out of sight of the city. Make your way in from the countryside. Chances are if you aren't in uniform and don't come in from the military port, you won't be recognized as Anla'shok."

"Yes, sir."

"Once we've set you down, we'll orbit the planet and wait for a predetermined rendezvous. Meanwhile, I'll see if we can solve this problem without violence. Jailbreaking is Plan B. Plan A is politics. The police chief is acting like the king of a city-state of old Minbar, before we were a united people. But he isn't the highest official on Tifar, and whoever is will have to bend to higher authority."

"I already reported to the Anla'shok," Khunnier said. "They told me nothing was going to be done yet. At least for the next week. Entilza Delenn is out of communication, consulting with the Council."

"That is alright," said Firuun. "The Whitestar Fleet may be captained by the Anla'shok but it belongs to the Alliance. I'll call John."

End of Chapter Five


	6. Chapter 6

Whitestar Ninety Seven

Chapter Six

"Thanks for the lift, Captain Ivanova." Sheridan softened the formality with one of his trademark smiles.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, sir?"

"No, but I'm going to do it anyway. I'm not here to interfere with whatever Delenn and the new Grey Council are doing. I'm not planning to sign any treaties, or announce any sweeping reforms, or even find out anything about whatever problem exists between Tifar and the rest of the Minbari Federation. I'm just here to spring one Ranger captain from the local cops. It shouldn't be that hard."

"With all due respect, sir, if you don't expect trouble, why do you want an Earth Force warship standing by in hyperspace?"

"No harm in being prepared."

"Wouldn't a Whitestar be a better choice if you need to do any saber rattling?"

"No, for two reasons. First, a Whitestar couldn't carry around a big enough civilian ship for me to fly down to the planet in without making it obvious that there's a mother ship around."

"And you're going dirtside in a civilian ship to avoid attracting attention."

"Right. And second, whatever Delenn is planning, she might call in the Whitestars for it. I don't plan to interfere with whatever she's doing—but since she's gone all mysterious on me again and won't give me all the details, I have no way of knowing if what she's doing might interfere with this."

"So you need a backup ship that can't be ordered away by Delenn."

"Got it in one."

"Have you considered marriage counseling?"

He chuckled. "Delenn and I have been negotiating with each other a lot longer than we've been a couple. But she's still got that 'only what you need to know, only when you need to know it' mindset. What can I say? She's still Minbari."

\

The young Minbari's documents identified him as one Muchonn of Clan Retta. He did not show any concern when the police receptionist ran his documents through the computer. After all, they were not fake documents at all, but real documents issued by the Minbari government in a false name. The Anla'shok had provided them for him.

The police receptionist handed Khunnier—Muchonn—a handcomp and told him to fill out the forms. Someone would be out to interview him after he was done.

\

The Mayor of Dash City dressed in civilian clothes, but he moved like a warrior. He stood proudly, he looked Sheridan in the eye, and he spoke like he was on a stage, projecting out to the audience, instead of in a small, minimalist office, and alone except for two guards at the door who did not look ceremonial at all. The two guards had on tan police uniforms rather than black warrior caste armor, but the guns on their hips appeared to be military grade and not at all new.

"Do you know what horrors the demon Dream has spawned, here and elsewhere? The lives ruins, the people killed over money, the lengths the smugglers will go to? No, sir, I will not change the law, or make exceptions to the law. It is unfortunate that this human on whose behalf you speak has been caught up in this, but if it is as you say that she was exposed to the drug as a prisoner here on Tifar during the war, then she should have known better than to come back here."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this. Most Minbari walk on eggshells around loribond victims. Hell, even humans do."

"I do not engage in the moral one-upmanship of victimhood. We are making a new society here. Of a very old kind. A world for Minbari. A society that works for Minbari."

"That's all well and good. But you know this law of yours in unfair."

"A small price to pay to get Dream off the streets."

"Look, I couldn't agree more than Dream is a terrible thing. If it's really that much of a problem, I can see that you'd have to go to extremes to deal with it. But you know there are people who were given loritril involuntarily. You know shisep stays in the body forever. That's the basis of the lifelong loribond. It's not fair to toss Carla in prison because your people gave her that drug during the war, right here on Tifar."

The Mayor sighed. "I know it isn't. But I can't just start letting people out, do you not see? The law would be meaningless if it were not evenly applied. Sooner or later the Tifar Council will update the law to deal with that little problem. In the meantime I can't just start poking holes in it. If there's a little collateral damage along the way, so be it. This is a war, Sheridan. A war to take back our culture from offworld criminal gangs who bring drugs and other alien contamination. And from those back on Minbar who subvert society with their polluted ways."

Sheridan did not respond. He was thinking hard. This was starting to look like Delenn was right, and he could not just talk the locals out of their prisoner without impinging on larger issues, issues that really did sound like internal Minbari problems.

The Minbari said, "If there were some ambiguity in the law, perhaps a way out might be found. But there is not. A Dream user is defined as one who has shisep in their body cells. Carla Punch does."

"So do I, are you going to arrest me too?"

"She is guilty. We cannot let her go." The Mayor of Dash signaled to his two guards. "And yes, in fact. No one is above the law."

The two Minbari police drew their weapons and pointed them at Sheridan.

"Oh, now wait a minute. You can't do that."

"I can. It's as good an excuse as any. You see, Sheridan, you are a gift to us. From the cosmos. We know our local defense fleet is completely outclassed by the main Minbari fleet. Even without counting the Whitestar fleet. So how are we to proceed? We don't want to petition for protection from some other race. We don't want allies. We are trying to get rid of alien influences. Purify our society, and ourselves. So if we can't fight head to head, we need leverage."

"Are you telling me this is an independence movement?"

"Yes. And you, President Sheridan, are a hostage. Take him to the prison and process him for Dream use."

One of the police bound his hands while the other one covered him with the ray gun.

"You'll never get away with this!"

All the way from the office to the police hq/ jail complex, Sheridan kept a sharp eye out for an opportunity to get away. He was poised to strike at any moment, everything in him screaming to fight, to run, to do something. But the police were too good at their jobs, too well practiced in transporting prisoners. There was no opportunity.

At the jail, a white robed Minbari came out to take a cell sample. He did not bat an eye at the V-marks on Sheridan's arm. Then Sheridan was put in a large circular room with a lot of other prisoners, to wait for the results before being transferred to the prison proper.

At last there were no longer any armed police around. No one was pointing a weapon at him any more. If there was going to be a chance to escape, this was it. He tried to force the door. When it wouldn't give, he tried to body-slam it down.

"Don't bother," one of the other prisoners told him. "That door was made to keep in Minbari. You don't have a chance."

He turned around and looked at the other prisoners. They were all Minbari. A few of them were in warrior caste armor, but most were civilians.

One of the warriors said, "Starkiller."

All the other prisoners walked slowly towards him.

"Of course not," Sheridan said, trying to pitch his voice up higher to make it less recognizable. The effect was not as he intended. He still sounded like Sheridan. He just sounded scared. "What would he be doing here?"

The Minbari closed in on him menacingly.

"Oh oh." Sheridan looked around. There were a couple of dozen of them, and only one of him.

But at least they were not armed. He would not try to rush the police officers' ray guns, but he would definitely defend himself in a fistfight. He put up his dukes.

"It is him," one of the other warriors said. "Sir—Mr. President—what ARE you doing here?"

"Oh. Uh, are you on my side?"

The warrior stepped in front of him and turned to face the other prisoners.

The warrior who had identified Sheridan said, "Stand aside, alien lover. Chudomo has business with Starkiller."

"Chudomo," Sheridan said, startled. "That's Lennier's clan."

"And the clan of five people who died on the Blackstar. There were many in Chudomo who were called to the warrior caste during the war. Even those who remained religious studied the martial arts, and the ways of ships and weapons of war. Chudomo lost kin to you, Starkiller. This is a clan matter. You, warrior, stand aside."

"No," said the warrior. "Starkiller he may be. But he is also our war leader. He led us in the Shadow War. He led us to victory, and saved our people."

"Pah!" The warrior of Chudomo attacked. The other warrior blocked and counterattacked.

Someone tried to pull one of the warriors away and got an elbow in the gut for his trouble. Another warrior skirted the fight and came around the side, and slugged Sheridan in the nose. Blood ran freely.

Sheridan aimed a punch at the warrior, but someone behind him caught his arm. He wrestled with the opponent behind him and kicked the one in front of him. The warrior who had punched him went down, but someone else took his place.

The whole room erupted in fighting, Minbari against Minbari. The pro-Sheridan faction seemed to outnumber the anti-Sheridan group, but he was still getting pounded. Whoever was behind him had to be more than one person, since someone had both of his arms and someone kept hitting him from behind.

He could not break the grip on his arms, so he concentrated on kicking anybody who came at him from in front. He had a fairly large pile of injured and unconscious Minbari in front of him by the time the police opened the door and tossed in the stun grenade.

End of Chapter Six


	7. Chapter 7

Whitestar 97

Chapter 7

Carla did not know how long she had been here. There were no windows in her cell. If they were giving her meals at the beginning and end of each day, and turning off the lights during Tifar's real night, as they had done at the military prison here on Tifar 17 years ago, then she had been here for two planetary days. But it would be easy for them to artificially stretch or compress time.

In any case, she had certainly been here long enough for her crew to do something. So why was she still here? Whatever Firuun had been planning when he said he would have "leverage" back at the ship, he must have failed.

For a moment she entertained a fantasy of her crew rescuing her, guns blazing. But she could not expect them to kill other Minbari. No, she was stuck here.

No one was coming for her.

She was alone.

Carla turned over on the stale-smelling human style mattress. She wondered if they had taken it from the formerly abandoned military base, and if she might have slept on it the first time she was on Tifar.

Then she thought about the activity she had seen at the military airfield when she set her ship down. Maybe that was what she was supposed to see and report. Maybe she should never have left her ship. Perhaps the locals were arming for some reason, and she should have ferreted it out.

Carla touched her pin. She wondered why they had allowed her to keep it; she could have stuck somebody with the pin back. Well, it was no better a weapon than her teeth and nails, and they had let her keep those.

Carla shivered at the thought.

She remembered a dream then, a nightmare she had had that night, in which she kept trying to get dressed and her uniform kept sagging under the weight of the pin. Her badge was too heavy.

"I am a Ranger," Carla whispered. "I walk in the dark places…" she trailed off. She could not live up to that code, not here.

She tried to picture herself in 'I stand on the bridge, and none shall pass' mode, Minbari Fighting Pike in hand. That was an image of defiance. There was no defiance in her now.

The guards here had not done anything to her. But just being in prison on Tifar was enough. Her spirit had fallen into the same state of obedience as it had when she was a prisoner on the pirate base, the same as it had when she was a prisoner on Tifar the first time.

This was the state of mind she had been in when they gave her the drug. She had been thoroughly broken by Comac and his minions before she was sent to Control to be loribonded. Before she was given the loritril, she had already reached a state in which she would lie down in the snow and kiss the guards' boots if they told her to.

Her cell door opened. Two boneheads came in, a guard and the prison doctor. Carla did not raise her eyes to their faces to see if she recognized the guard.

The doctor asked her, "Do you speak Minbari?" He was speaking the religious caste language, but Carla knew enough of it to know what he was asking.

She replied in the military caste language, "I speak the dark speech." The Minbari divided their languages like their castes; black armor and the black language for the warriors, white and gold robes and the white tongue for the religious, a rainbow of hues and the grey language for the workers. Since grey was an especially sacred color to the Minbari, that implied that in the deeps of Minbari prehistory the worker caste had been held in higher esteem than it had in historical times.

Carla's voice came out quiet and surprisingly steady, almost emotionless. All the fear, all the hate, all the self-loathing at her cooperativeness stayed underneath, leaving the surface smooth as a still pond.

The doctor asked, "How is your knee doing?"

"Better. No longer swollen. I wouldn't walk to try any serious landscaping projects, though."

The doctor laughed. Apparently he thought that was a joke. But Carla had been deadly serious. She was not ready for a work detail. Not even to see the sky.

In the prisoner of war camp, work details had been coveted like precious jewels. Whoever was out on a work detail was not going to be tortured that day. Carla had once seen a young lieutenant knife one of his own men to take his place on a work crew. That officer had only lasted 6 weeks before he was deemed broken enough to be taken to Control for loribonding.

The doctor said, "There are some medical students at the local university who would welcome the opportunity to study human anatomy. You may save the lives of your fellow humans someday if you permit it." He sounded like he was making a well rehearsed sales pitch.

"Do I have to stand up or is the guard going to carry me again?"

"Not right now," the doctor said. "Right now I'm just collecting names for Alien Day. That's what they call it. I'm glad to hear you will consent to help in this way."

"I am your prisoner. My consent is irrelevant." That could have been said with anger, but Carla said it with quiet calm. It was the calm of smashed buildings after a tsunami, the calm of a battlefield where nothing moves but drifting smoke and crows. The calm of wreckage.

The doctor hesitated, and his voice was softer now. "Not to me. Or to the students. Will you participate?"

He clearly wanted her to say yes, so she said "Yes." What was the difference between ordering her to do something, and ordering her to say yes first and then do it? None at all. Not to the compliant, the submissive, the broken.

And even without loribond commands, or any stated command at all, the desires of her captors were orders. She had learned the lesson of obedience well, the first time she was on Tifar. If she obeyed, she was still going to be tortured. But she was not going to be punished first and then tortured. There was less pain if she obeyed.

"Good," said the doctor. "Alien Day is in two days. A guard will bring you then." The two boneys left the cell. The heavy cell door closed with a metallic clang.

Carla curled up in a ball. She thought she might cry, but the tears did not come. She wondered what the boneheads were going to do to her on Alien Day. Probably examine her. Put their boney hands on her. And in her.

Carla went over to the far wall of the cell, and used the makeshift human style sanitary setup. It was not any worse than the usual jury-rigging of Minbari technology to accommodate humans, but she did not feel really clean when she was done.

She longed for the shower aboard her Whitestar. That felt like a dream now, though. Was there really a time when Minbari called her Captain and followed her orders? When she led Minbari in battle? It couldn't really be true, could it?

Carla touched her Anla'shok pin. She traced its contours with her fingertips. It was real. Her life on the Whitestar was real. She was not STILL on Tifar. She was on Tifar AGAIN. Her life in between had really happened.

At the end of the day, a guard brought food, then came around to collect the plate and shut off the lights. That was the routine here, now.

There had been a routine in the Tifar POW camp too. When it was not interrupted by work details, inspections, special projects, or escape attempts. Lights on. Breakfast. Torture. Playtime. Dinner. Lights out.

Playtime was not, of course, entertainment for the prisoners. That was when the guards, torturers, and anybody else in the base— soldiers, cooks, janitors, anybody, even the worker caste—got to have fun with the prisoners. At first that had been the worst part. But after a few months, every day, the torture was so bad she looked forward to the rape.

End of Chapter 7


	8. Chapter 8

Whitestar 97

Chapter 8

The lights flipped on in Carla's cell. The door opened, and a guard came in with a tray of food and a jug of water. He set it down beside the door, then carefully almost closed the door, so the room would not be visible from outside if another guard happened by.

Carla tensed. So far, this time around, no one here had actually harmed her. That might be about to change.

"Sh," said the guard, kneeling down beside her on her mattress.

Carla did not look up. She tried to relax her muscles; if he wanted to position her, her tension could be interpreted as resistance, and resistance was punished.

"Don't say it," he whispered. "I'm known as Muchonn."

There was something vaguely familiar about his voice, but the whispered tone did not lock in her memory. Carla did not look at the guard's face. Humans and Minbari shared a primitive gestural vocabulary in which a lowered gaze signified submission. Any wolf on Earth would have recognized it. So Carla never looked at her captors' faces, except in brief flashes when they were not addressing her.

Carla felt a cool breeze on her face, and realized it was wet. She was crying. It was not fear. It was not even self-pity. It was disappointment.

Because she had been here for days now and no one had tortured her or raped her. And she had thought maybe nobody would, this time. And now it seemed it was playtime.

"Carla?" The bonehead laid hands on her. It was about to start.

No, it was just one hand, a touch on her arm, tentative, even gentle. It was the gesture of someone wanting her attention. "Carla? Captain?"

She looked up then. And a shock of recognition went through her. "Khu—"

"Sh. Yes, it's me. I'm going to get you out of here. I had it all planned, for Alien Day. A small strike force against the police transport. But there's been a complication. There's another prisoner we have to get out of here, and he's being held under close guard. There's no way they're going to loan him to the university hospital for a day. I'm revising the battle plan. Don't worry, I'll work everything out."

"Who? Didn't they let Firuun go?"

"Firuun's fine. He's on the ship. There's a revolution going on out there, Carla. A very quiet one. From the top down. Nobody in the streets knows much about it, but the local F'hurst—" the Mayor of Dash, he meant "is trying for an independence treaty on the cheap. I'm going to get myself assigned to that duty so I can see what's going on and where the weak points in the security are."

"What?"

"Never mind, I don't have much time before my delay is noticed, and I shouldn't tell you too much anyway. You understand."

"Of course," Carla said. Because what she did not know, she could not reveal.

"Just know that I'm here and I'm working on a rescue plan. It's going to be alright."

Then he whisked out of the cell and clanged the door shut behind him.

Carla wiped her tears away and touched her Anla'shok pin. "I am a Ranger," she whispered. "I walk in the dark places, where no one else will go." Her voice strengthened and took on volume. "I stand on the bridge, and none may pass." Her fists closed on an imaginary denn'bok. "I live for the One. I die for the One."

When Khunnier's escape plan happened, Carla would be ready.

\

Sheridan woke up from the stun grenade with a much less severe headache than he had expected. Or, maybe that was just in contrast with all the other aches. Whoever the two or three people behind him had been, they had really done a number on his back. He hoped that pain on the lower right side was not his kidney.

He felt broken ribs shift and realized he was being dragged. He opened his eyes. There was a tan uniformed Minbari on each side of him. The two guards each had one of his arms, and they were hustling him down a corridor in a basically upright walking posture, except that the Minbari were shorter than Sheridan and his feet were dragging on the ground behind him.

Before he could try to get his feet under him, a door opened and he was dragged into a room. An older Minbari in civilian clothes faced an activated viewscreen, and the guards turned Sheridan toward it.

The old Minbari glanced over his shoulder at Sheridan and then did a double take. "I did not order that," he said. It did not come out like a reprimand to the guards, but more of a plea to the viewscreen.

Sheridan looked at the screen and saw Delenn. Her eyes were wide with shock, but then her face closed down and she said in her hardest voice, "Your rebellion will fail, Governor. I will not give in to terrorist threats. You have until my fleet arrives to let him go and give yourselves up. After that I will have no mercy."

"By the time you arrive, Delenn," said the Governor of Tifar, "I will have signed a treaty with the Alliance granting Tifar independence. You will have to honor it, as Earth honors the freedom of Mars."

Sheridan tried to speak and found his lips glued together with dried nose blood from the fistfight in the holding cell. He made an inarticulate noise and worked his mouth free in few seconds.

"Perhaps you did not hear me," Delenn said. "If you do not understand what I mean by no mercy, why don't you ask the human." She reached forward and her transmission ended.

Sheridan planted his feet and stood up between the two Minbari holding his arms. "I will not sign," he grated.

"Alright, NOW you can hit him," said the Governor.

One of the Minbari feather-touched the back of his hair. Sheridan realized the guard had faked the strike. That realization came too late to react to the blow, so instead he shook his head and blinked as if shaking it off.

"Clean up his face," ordered the Governor.

The guard who had pretended to hit him let go and went to a wall, which opened on a concealed cabinet and refresher station. He got a sponge and pulled water into a glass from a dispenser hose. When he turned around Sheridan recognized the young Anla'shok, Khunnier.

Sheridan kept himself from saying anything. Whatever was up, he was going to play along.

The young Ranger asked, "Thirsty?" Then he poured the glass of water over Sheridan's face.

The other guard shifted his stance uncomfortably and said, "What are you doing, Muchonn?"

Khunnier wiped the blood off of Sheridan's face with the sponge. He deposited the sponge and glass in the refresher station and returned to where the other guard still held Sheridan by the arm.

"Orders, Governor?" he asked.

"Soften him up."

Khunnier hit Sheridan in the gut, not very hard. Sheridan grunted and doubled over, exaggerating his pain exactly the way he had seen Recnar do during the Ritual of Endurance.

The other guard let go of Sheridan and said, "We don't do this, Governor. We're police. We stand for the law."

"The law is what I say it is," said the Governor. "But you think this is wrong? Fine. Just stand there and keep him from escaping. Muchonn, how would you like to be promoted to sergeant?"

"I'd like that just fine, Governor," Khunnier said. He elbowed Sheridan in the back and Sheridan fell, catching himself on his hands.

"This isn't going to do you any good," Sheridan said, climbing to his feet. "It doesn't matter what I sign, a treaty made under these conditions is no good. Delenn will take you apart if you don't let me go."

"Your safety will require her sworn word," said the Governor. "She will have to keep it or be known as a liar."

"Go to hell," said Sheridan.

Khunnier fake-punched him again, and Sheridan fell to the floor.

End of Chapter 8


	9. Chapter 9

Whitestar 97

Chapter Nine

Delenn cut the transmission. The Governor of Tifar could no longer see or hear her, but she could still see him. He ignored the screen as if he were not still sending, but he had either forgotten to turn off his end of the conversation or he was making a point to show her what was happening to the hostage.

As the beating went on and on, Delenn turned to the white robed religious acolyte at the communications station. "Signal the Whitestar Fleet. We assemble at Trossi Point." She named a dark mass in space that was used only for navigation purposes, having no solar power or mineral resources to exploit.

Up on the screen, Sheridan was lying on the ground, clutching his ribs and crying out every time he was kicked by the young guard. The genuine police guard said, "Governor, this is wrong. Of course I support our goals, the central government has been ignoring our problems, but what good could come of this evil?"

"Your understanding is not required," said the Governor. "Only your obedience."

Delenn commented, "He should have learned that himself. Now he will face my wrath."

The communications officer said, "Incoming transmission from Whitestar 97."

"On screen. But continue recording the other."

Firuun appeared on the screen, on the bridge of Whitestar 97. Some of the religious on Delenn's Whitestar glanced at each other, wondering what those warriors in the black armor were doing on a Whitestar.

"We're already at Tifar, standing by in hyperspace with the Medusa. We have someone inside and are planning a rescue. That was him on the transmission. That beating was faked. I don't think the Governor caught on, but that young guard is actually our tactical officer and intelligence specialist, the Anla'shok Khunnier. Khunnier would not really hurt him, and Sheridan doesn't yell like that, not for real. He didn't during the Ritual of Endurance."

"I know," Delenn said. "I did not know about your infiltrator, but I could tell Sheridan was faking. The very first time I met him he was a prisoner being beaten by Minbari guards. I remember it well."

Firuun blinked. "Huh?"

"It was during the war." Delenn made a dismissive gesture. "Continue with your plan. If there are no hostages on the ground when the fleet reaches Tifar, so much the better. Transmit any intelligence you have on military targets to us. And if anyone from the Fleet so much as breathes toward Tifar before your raid is finished, I will personally see that he regrets it for the rest of his very short life."

Sheridan stood in a line with the other non-Minbari prisoners. For the first time, he saw Carla, and saw that she seemed basically intact, although she was staring at the floor in the same way she had at the pirate base. There were also a Drazi, a Braciri, and a something Sheridan did not recognize.

Sheridan had a medical immobilizer around his ribcage. He appeared to be the only one there in the prison infirmary with an actual injury.

"Moving along to the human male," said the prison doctor. "We're lucky to be able to use this specimen. He is the reason we're holding Alien Day here instead of bringing everyone to the hospital. Some kind of security consideration." The prison doctor dismissed this notion with an airy gesture. "You'll note the basic outward similarity to Minbari. However, the human bone structure is very different. And not only in their thin, fragile skulls. Their bones are much lighter than ours, both thinner and hollower, as you'll recall from the human female specimen. What is our theory on that? Anyone?"

"It's an adaptation to their planet being mostly covered by water," one of the students replied.

"Correct, and why is that?"

"When their lungs are fully inflated, humans float in water."

"Right again. Now, consider. If the evolutionary pressure is to reduce density as much as possible to allow an air breathing creature to swim, it makes sense to eliminate bone from areas where it is seldom needed. What would be the most logical result of this?"

"Is that how they lost the tail present in their simian ancestors?" One of the other students hazarded.

"Possibly. Also, look at this." The doctor took hold of a delicate part of Sheridan's anatomy.

Sheridan inhaled and grimaced. This was just as degrading as anything Inoja the Centauri pirate did.

The doctor said, "Look, it bends. No bone here."

"How?" one of the students asked. "The female was nearly identical to Minbari." The student unconsciously wiped a hand on his white robe, as if he had not quite gotten all the squelch off his hand from his turn at examining the human female specimen.

"It's quite an interesting mechanism. If you'll turn your attention to this chart." The doctor displayed holographic images of a cell structure and tissue slice. "As you know, Minbari males are ready all the time. However, human males use this tissue, you'll note the blood vessels here and here…"

"This is highly irregular," said the police receptionist. Any other race would call him a desk sergeant, but the Minbari did not have front desks. "The other medical students went in this morning."

"Those are the students," said the exceptionally tall female Minbari in the pink silk dress. "We're here for the physician seminar. We want to see the aliens too."

The other eight physicians, all males in an oddly similar array of civilian clothes, as if all purchased by the same shopping service, started to mill about a little.

She stepped closer and said enthusiastically, "Did you know that humans share an optic gene sequence with the Dilgar? The one that encodes for seeing planetary illumination in terms of primary colors of red and blue. The equivalent of our sequence 43fj. It's really quite extraordinary. Parallel evolution resulting from similar stellar characteristics. I'm doing a paper on it."

When Dilis took a deep breath as if in preparation to expound further on the subject, the police receptionist held up a hand. "I'll check with the doctor."

"That won't be necessary," said a tan uniformed guard as he came in to the front reception area. "I've been sent to bring them through."

"Oh, sure, Muchonn." The police receptionist said. He waved Dilis and her party along. "Go ahead. Follow the guard."

Dilis of Clan Imbalo and her hand picked commando team walked into the prison behind Khunnier.

End of Chapter 9


	10. Chapter 10

Whitestar 97

Chapter 10: Jailbreak

When the newcomers came into the room, Carla glanced up at them. But she did not recognize her crew. All she saw was Minbari. Enemies.

But she knew Dilis's voice when the tall scientist started talking. She was going on about parallel evolution and rods and cones.

"Never mind that," said another of the newcomers, and Carla recognized her ship's doctor. "I'm interested in the immune system and in rates of healing from physical trauma. Is that one over there injured? Can we unwrap that and probe the bone structure?"

The prison doctor was momentarily nonplussed. "Who are all of you?"

Khunnier, in his persona as Muchonn, assured him, "They've come for an advanced seminar. Didn't you get the memo? The students are finished, aren't they?"

"Yes. Yes, finished enough, I was going to make some closing remarks and have a question and answer period."

"Perhaps you could hold that by conference vid tomorrow," Khunnier said.

"Um, yes, I suppose. If you're in charge of this seminar, does that mean the Governor had something to do with it?"

"Of course," Khunnier lied. If this aspect of his undercover role bothered him at all, he showed no sign of it.

The students were ushered out of the room and sent on their way.

The ship's doctor and the prison doctor were nattering away about the human white blood cell when Khunnier said, "Now."

Instantly the commandos produced police ray guns from under their doctor's robes. They could not bring in their own weapons past the scanners, so Khunnier had outfitted them from the armory once they were inside the police station.

The ship's doctor, who had been standing very close to the prison doctor, pulled the prison doctor around and held the ray gun to his head. "Not a sound," ordered the ship's doctor.

"Who are you people?" the prison doctor asked indignantly.

"Quiet," the ship's doctor ordered, poking his captive with the end of the ray gun.

"You're not going to kill me. You're Minbari."

"Yes, we are," Khunnier said. "And she is our captain. And he is our war leader."

"It's about time," Sheridan groused. "Do we have time to find our clothes?"

"Plenty of time, Mr. President. The plan is to give the civilians time to leave the building before we move from this room."

Sheridan walked toward the bins where the prisoners' clothing had been stored for Alien Day, and motioned the others along with him. "Yeah, well, you could take them out too as far as I'm concerned. This was humiliating."

The other prisoners were digging in the bins and getting dressed, but Carla just stood there, looking confused. "Go on, Carla," Khunnier encouraged her quietly. Carla found she could move then. She dug out her uniform and put it on. She realized she had been waiting for a Minbari to tell her what to do.

"You three," Khunnier said, addressing the Drazi, the Brakiri, and the Vrill. "I know what each of you is in here for, and we're prepared to bring you along on our jailbreak if you'll cooperate with us."

The three readily agreed.

"Good. Dilis?"

Dilis produced a bag and handed out ray guns to the five former prisoners, now fully clothed again.

Khunnier rummaged in the infirmary drawers and produced some tape, with which he bound the prison doctor's hands, feet, and mouth. Then he secured him to one of the slanted infirmary beds.

"What's the plan to get off this planet?" asked Sheridan.

Dilis answered, "When we clear the building we'll signal the Whitestar and make for Traan Commons." That was the public square where Carla had met up with Ike and the FPFP, what seemed like amillion years ago. "It's big enough for the ship to set down in, barely."

Carla's tactical sense was jarred back into awareness. As a Marine she had led troops to a pickup zone once too often to find their dustoff was not there. And once she had seen their drop ship explode over the landing zone, hit by ground to air missiles.

She wanted to ask what the backup plan was. But found she could not. She was still in Tifar prison, surrounded by Minbari, even if they were her own crew there to rescue her. She could not turn off her passive state of mind that easily.

"We'll exit the jail by the back way," Khunnier said. "The front entrance is guarded and monitored, the back entrance is merely locked. This is a civilian operation, mostly housing petty thieves, drug users, and the occasionally smuggler from offworld. Security is lax by military standards. Opening the service door will set off an alarm, but we'll be outside before they can do much about it."

"We do anticipate they'll follow us," said Dilis. "There will probably be a running street battle. But we have an advantage. We have the aliens."

"Right," said Sheridan, checking his ray gun. "The cops won't shoot to kill at you. Minbari don't kill Minbari. But I do."

Khunnier made a face, as if to say, we're all well aware of that. "Let's go."

They made it to the back door without encountering anyone. Khunnier's mapping of the prison complex and attention to the duty schedules had paid off.

He opened the back door and the alarm hooted. They poured out into the street and took off running.

A harsh voice blatted from the PA system, shouting first in the worker caste dialect, and then in the military caste language, "Halt! Drop your weapons!"

Carla slowed and fumbled her ray gun. She actually dropped it, and it clattered on the ground. What was she doing?

One of her crew picked it up for her, and someone put a hand on her arm and hustled her along. "Run," someone said, again in the Minbari military caste language, and Carla ran.

End of Chapter 10


	11. Chapter 11

Whitestar 97

Chapter 11: the Battle of Tifar

The Governor of Tifar opened his safe and took out the strange round communications device. It had no controls, no screen or holographic projector. He stroked it to life, and it glowed. He held it for exactly the amount of time it took to recite a short prayer to Valen in his mind. Blasphemy, perhaps; but the hour was desperate. Then he locked the device back in the safe.

"When you've served your purpose," the Governor muttered, "somehow I'll be rid of you. We did not do this only to serve another master."

Whether his secret allies knew his intention or not, he saw that they were going to uphold their part of the bargain. Outside his office window, a dust cloud rose on the edge of town. A buried ship was shaking off its camouflage and preparing to rise.

\

"Target weapons and engines only," Firuun ordered. "Fire at will." The local fleet was no match for a Whitestar. It did not even include one real war cruiser. Only a few old patrol wagons, abandoned on Tifar's military airfield because they were obsolete. They had recently been refurbished, but none of them were as swift or as well armed as a Whitestar.

Brights beams of destruction lanced out again and again.

Whitestar 97's gunner took two of the patrol ships out of the fight with precise engine shots while they were still lifting from the planet. That necessitated most of the rest of Tifar's fleet coming to their rescue to tractor them in and set them down so they did not fall into the gravity well and crash.

There was only one patrol ship left. It drove straight for the Whitestar, head on, and fired.

A bang, a jerk and a sizzle of damaged circuitry shook the Whitestar's bridge. "They're firing to kill!" a young warrior squeaked from somewhere behind Firuun.

"Come about and return fire," Firuun thundered.

The Whitestar maneuvered, going for a lock on the enemy's weapons. The two ships danced the deadly dance of phased particle beams. Finally the Whitestar's gunner took out the patrol ship's weapons, and the crippled patrol ship slowed and fell behind.

"Helm. Take us in."

For a few moments the only sound was the thrum of the living ship repairing itself. Then they entered the atmosphere, and there was a high whistling sound as air molecules moved across the ship's skin. The sound changed pitch and grew louder as Whitestar 97 flew into thicker air.

The Whitestar swooped down toward Dash, glowing with the heat of its passage. The ship began to slow in preparation for landing.

A dust cloud rose on the edge of Dash, but the combatants did not perceive it as a threat. Then out of the dust came a dark shape, faintly iridescent in the autumn light of Tifar. A shape like a predator's mouth, bristling with black feline whiskers. No, not whiskers; legs.

"Shadow vessel!" Firuun boomed. "Break off, break off!"

The Shadow ship fired, lighting up the atmosphere. It struck the Whitestar as it skimmed low over Dash, knocking over several Whitestar crewmen.

"Climb!" Firuun ordered. "Run for space! Communications, alert the strike team. We can't get to them."

The young gunner's hands shook, but stayed poised over his controls, waiting for a chance to attack.

The Shadow vessel scored several hits, and the Whitestar shuddered and slowed.

"Signal the Medusa," Firuun roared. "We need help."

Firuun did not state the obvious. The Medusa did not have a telepath onboard either. They had no means of fighting a Shadow vessel.

\

Carla kept looking over her shoulder, expecting to see a phalanx of tan uniforms in hot pursuit. So she collided with the Brakiri smuggler when he stopped suddenly. All around her, people were bolting for cover.

The attack was coming from in front. Black uniforms: soldiers, not police. Laser lights streaked all around her, going in both directions.

Carla dove behind a parked ground vehicle. Several Minbari were behind it too.

She reached for a sidearm; she did not have one. She remembered she had dropped her commandeered police ray gun.

"Give me a weapon," Carla said, a little breathlessly. Then her voice hardened into a sergeant's voice. "Somebody give me a weapon!"

A Minbari crewmember, still in the white robes of the doctor disguise, put something metal in her hand. Carla vented a hysterical laugh when she realized it was a denn'bok.

Someone whistled, and Carla looked across the street to a doorway, where Sheridan sheltered against the firefight, his ray gun glowing slightly on the end from rapid fire. He locked eyes with her and pointed down the alley behind Carla, and made a circling motion.

It was not the precise signals that Marines used in the field, but his meaning was clear. Carla nodded, and touched the shoulder of the nearest Minbari. "Follow me."

\

At the front of firefight, Khunnier had taken refuge in the meager cover of a utility box. He was afraid it was going to be hit exactly wrong and explode at any moment. But he kept ducking out one side or the other and firing.

Then he heard an amplified voice say, "We have you surrounded. Put down your weapons." It was coming from behind.

Khunnier looked behind and saw the tan uniforms of a police squad walking up the alley. His cover was no good from that angle.

His heart raced. What was he going to do? He had to take the chance that they would not kill him. Minbari do not kill Minbari. By the same token, he could not kill them either.

As if everyone was having the same internal debate, the shooting paused.

So far the firefight had resulted in death only when the aliens fired. The Whitestar crew only laid down covering fire, and occasionally picked off a gun hand or two. And the opposing warriors had never had a good shot at anyone.

Then, suddenly, the street blazed with deadly light. A killing beam swept across the whole police line, scything them down like a farmer cutting hay.

The rain of death had come from a doorway. Khunnier could not see who it was from there, since he was in front, sharing a view with the enemy warriors.

The enemy fired a few times, futilely, at the doorway, but whoever was behind it did not show himself. But it had to be one of the aliens. Khunnier dismissed the thought and prepared to fire another unaimed covering shot, when a whoosh and a sonic boom came from overhead.

It was the Whitestar! It glowed white-hot from reentry. Khunnier let out an inarticulate cheer.

Then there was a scream in his mind. A Shadow vessel rose from the planet and fired at the Whitestar. Their rescue ship banked and peeled off, gaining altitude as the Shadow vessel pursued it beyond the horizon.

Khunnier saw the Shadow ship score a hit on the Whitestar before the aerial combat passed beyond sight around the curve of the world.

He felt cold, and he could not think. Then he heard cries of surprise and pain from the end of the street.

Carla charged the enemy guns with a Pike in her hand. Laughing.

End of Chapter 11


	12. Chapter 12

Whitestar 97

Chapter 12

Carla was out of the alley on her enemies before they noticed her. She knocked guns from hands and knocked heads with equal abandon. By the time the enemy brought their guns to bear, her own crew were with her, fighting alongside her.

She was floating in a weird kind of euphoria, seeing the battle in slow motion, hearing her own voice and not knowing if she were shrieking with pain or joy. They had been right about her all along; she was quite mad.

"Captain, he's dead," someone said.

Carla came to awareness, a little dizzy. She held a bloody Fighting Pike in her hands. She stood over a dead Minbari warrior, his face stove in. She had killed a Minbari.

She had not been able to kill a Minbari for 17 years. When she had been released from Tifar, she had not been able to tell anyone about the programming, the loribond, the date and the plan. Not until after it happened. Not until long after it happened, and the lawyers and the psychs came for her.

She had been sent back to the front lines, when her body was sufficiently recovered from captivity. To wait. To wait for the Day.

And she had led troops in combat. She had fired weapons. But she had never been able to shoot straight at a Minbari warrior, unless she was only trying to wound, going for a leg shot or shooting at a weapon. The loribond command had held through battle after battle.

Until the Day. After which she was never in battle again. Until the Minbari themselves gave her that chance.

And now she had killed a Minbari. Several Minbari, apparently. She had killed this whole detachment; she must have, since they were dead and her own crew—her Minbari crew—had certainly not done it.

Carla sank down to the ground and just stared at the dead for a moment. Then she wiped the denn'bok on a dead warrior's clothes and closed it down.

The rest of the escape party left their hiding places and trudged up the street.

"Nice work," Sheridan said. "I make that 5 confirmed kills, if you're keeping track."

"I'm not," Carla said quietly. "I'm not a Marine anymore."

Still, she could not help noticing that there were a lot more than five bodies on the ground. And that Dilis—tough talking, awfully young Dilis who liked to brag about being friends with Deathwalker—was throwing up against the side of a building.

"It's OK to feel sick after your first ground combat," Carla said. "I don't feel all that great myself."

That was true, but she was not nauseous. She was aware that she was in pain, probably from her damned knee again, but she did not bother to try to localize the feeling and discover what was hurt. Pain was just a cloud, hanging around her but not part of her. That was a trick she had developed the first time she was on Tifar. Dissociation, the headshrinkers called it. As if sticking a label on it somehow put it under their control.

Sheridan held out a hand and Carla took it, and let him help her to her feet. As she unfolded from the ground, his gaze took in her midsection. His eyes widened. "Medic!"

The ship's doctor was on her immediately, boney hands reaching for her.

"I don't need a goddamned doctor," Carla snarled.

"Captain, you've been shot."

"Mm?" Carla started to look down at herself, but she stopped. She did not want to see her wound; that would make it real, and the pain would come home. She let the doctor press a bandage to her torso like an adhesive patch on a leaky hull.

"The Whitestar can't reach us," Khunnier said. "We'll have to commandeer a ship."

The Brakiri spoke up. "My ship is still here. Impounded. They swept up the whole crew. I don't have the access codes for the door, I'm the navigator, only the Captain and the cargomaster have them. But if you're going to steal a ship, at least steal one we're sure we can fly."

"I can fly anything," said the Drazi.

"Is your ship a smuggling ship?" Sheridan asked the Brakiri.

"Well—well, yes."

"Then it must be fast and well armed."

"It's fast. In the smuggling business, if you have to shoot your way out, you've already messed up."

"That'll do. Khunnier, take point. Get us to the spaceport. Let's get off this street before reinforcements arrive."

They advanced to a parallel street and jogged along it, keeping watch on windows, alleys, rooftops, and the blue sky above them, alert for another attack.

The impound yard was guarded. But they approached it first from inside a building, and fired from the second story. The non Minbari took out the guards while the Minbari commandos watched their backs, guarding the hallways, stairs, and doors of the building. The spaceport guards never saw it coming, and did not get off any shots.

\

The Medusa came out of hyperspace like a Gayem space worm out of its lair, its great bulk going on and on and on from the emptiness behind the jump point. Like all Earth Force vessels, it looked like someone had designed it by cannibalizing wet navy battleship kits.

Whitestar 97 turned and fell in alongside the Medusa, and they concentrated their fire at the Shadow vessel. The spider ship returned fire, slipping and dodging. The three starships wove a complex pattern of attack and counterattack.

Then shapes rose from the glow of the planet. It was the rest of the Tifar patrol boats, coming back into space after saving their comrades from crashing.

But instead of joining the battle, they were chasing a civilian ship.

On the bridge of the Medusa, the comm tech called out, "Captain Ivanova! We're getting a transmission from the freighter. Text only, on a civilian frequency. In the clear but reads like a code."

"What does it say?"

"Letters. WWVD space HTL. Then it repeats"

"What the… It's Khunnier! He wants us to protect the civilian ship! Move to intercept the patrol wagons! Send a message to the Whitestar, they have to hold off the Shadow vessel."

A chorus of 'aye, Captains' acknowledged her orders. The Whitestar went head to head with the Shadow vessel. The Medusa sped toward the patrol craft, interposing itself between the attackers and the freighter.

"Captain! Tachyon particles, a sudden spike. Something's…" And then something was happening. The bridge seemed to ripple, as time slowed and resumed. "…happening what the heck was…"

A tear in the fabric of the universe opened. "Time rift!" Ivanova shouted.

The time rift swallowed the Brakiri ship.

End of Chapter 12


	13. Chapter 13

Whitestar 97

Chapter 13: Magus Ex Machina

Firuun's first instinct was to follow the freighter into the time rift. If Ivanova was right, and the strike team and rescued hostages were aboard, then his daughter was on that ship. And the enemy was certainly acting as if Ivanova were right.

But then the Shadow vessel sheared off and made for the time rift, and Firuun's priority became stopping the spider ship from following the Brakiri freighter.

"Stick on them, helm. Gunner, coordinate with the Medusa to concentrate fire on the Shadow vessel."

As the Shadow vessel aligned itself with the time rift, it shuddered and slowed, acting exactly as Shadow vessels do when their borg human pilots lose touch with the machine due to telepathic jamming.

"Continuous fire!" Firuun ordered. The Whitestar and the Medusa pumped light into the everlasting night, bright rays of annihilation.

The Shadow vessel withered and died.

\

The mist rolled back from the breeze of movement as Sheridan turned around. Everyone from the Brakiri ship stood in the fog.

Except Carla, who was lying down. As soon as they had come aboard, and her sergeantly expertise on ground tactics had no longer been required, she had curled up on the deck and started screaming. Her ship's doctor had put her out with a hefty dose of painkillers.

"What is it now, in Valen's name?" asked one of the Minbari, staring off into the fog.

Another member of the rescue team, a young Windsword, said, "If this is what war is like, I don't think I like it very much."

Another Windsword, his cousin, replied, "I'm sure it will feel different when the people we're killing aren't Minbari."

There was a shape in the mist. "Who's there?" called Sheridan.

He walked forwards, and the whole group shifted and caught up with him, as if the ground was nothing but illusion.

Three figures appeared as the mist cleared: a cloaked and hooded shape; a tall Minbari in a green dress; and a human of Asian origin, staring out a window onto space. The window was not set in any wall, but simply hung in the air in the swirling mist.

"Hullo," said the cloaked man. The voice was not deep but had a resonating quality, and the accent was British. "Welcome to my ship. Don't disturb him, he's keeping the Shadow vessel off."

The female Minbari—was Dilis!

The two of her approached each other. The Dilis in the black armor reached out a hand as if to test the reality of the being before her. "Don't touch," said the Dilis in the civilian dress. "That would be bad."

The cloaked man said, "Two of the same being existing in the same space at the same time, alter the space time continuum, destroy the universe, that sort of thing. I know, I know, you're thinking, how did I do this? Well, a good magician never gives away his tricks. You're probably also wondering, why now, in the middle of a battle? Why not drop in on you while you're bored, standing in line for something perhaps? The answer to that is, the Brakiri vessel. It was once in otherspace during the Brakiri Day of the Dead, and thus it has certain properties useful for stability during time travel."

Khunnier started to walk around the window. The cloaked man said, "Ah-ah, don't walk of front of Matheson, he needs line of sight on the Shadow vessel."

Sheridan said, "Who are you? What do you want?"

The Dilis in green addressed her counterpart. "We need the failsafe. Lots of it. By the time I figured out what I had, it was too late the save the Earth. I couldn't make enough of it in time. If you start right now, establish a factory somewhere, you can stockpile enough of it to make a difference when the time comes."

"Save the Earth?" asked the Dilis in black. "Surely I would not have allowed any contamination anywhere, much less on an inhabited planet."

"You didn't. In my time we call it the Drakh Plague. You possess the only cure."

"All this time," said the cloaked man, "it was right under our noses."

The Dilis in black said, "Yes. I see. I see. My initial experiments with the bioweapon and the Whitestar part showed the two biotechnologies are inimical to each other. I might even say, painful to each other, the way they react. And the spare part from the Whitestar I was working on was Vorlon technology. That makes the bioweapon—and the failsafe—Shadow technology."

"Yes," agreed the Dilis in green. "You must find somewhere out of the way, somewhere secure, to set up the factory. Several factories scattered through the galaxy would be even better. Completely separate from each other. It must be done in total secrecy. Or the Drakh will destroy the work."

The Dilis in black nodded. "I understand. And I'm glad. I'm glad to find something else to do with my work. I found I have no stomach for slaughter. Who would have guessed?"

"Wait a minute," said Sheridan. "How do we know you're really Dilis? How do we know you're really from the future?" He turned to the cloaked man, "And who the Hell are you?"

"Our first meeting is still in the future," said the cloaked man. "We must take care not to alter any parts of the timeline other than the one we wish to change. For now, all you need to know, is that I am a technomage."

Sheridan snorted.

The cloaked man continued, "And now we really must be going. Seems odd to say we're out of time during time travel, but I do not have the power to hold the time rift open for very long. The ship of a technomage is advanced beyond your dreams, but it is still a rather small ship, and not the rival of the Great Machine on Epsilon 3. I do not possess unlimited power."

The Dilis in green said, "I thought you might have doubts that we are from the future. So I'm going to prognosticate for you, to prove what I know. I've thought long and hard about what to say, because as Galen says, we have to be careful not to change the future. Very soon now, President Sheridan, you and Delenn will move to the new capitol on Minbar. And Lennier will desert the Anla'shok."

"What? He'd never do that. He's fanatically devoted to Delenn. Not all the Rangers take that 'live for the One, die for the One' stuff all that seriously, but if ever there were a martyr in search of a jihad, it's him."

"You will see," said the Dilis in green.

"Uh, OK," said Sheridan. "If you are from the future, who wins the World Series next year?"

"The what?" asked Dilis.

"Never mind."

The Brakiri smuggler spoke up. "How about next month's gold futures?"

Then the mist closed in around them, and they were back on the Brakiri ship. The time rift spat them out, and they saw the battle was over. The Shadow vessel drifted in space, a withered hulk. Tifar's patrol boats were limping home or orbiting the planet, effecting repairs or waiting for assistance.

And that was when Delenn's fleet arrived.

"Well, well," said Sheridan. "That technomage wanted to turn us all into his pawns. But it's better to be a fighting pawn than a king who does nothing but get protected. While the queen makes all the great moves. For once I got to mix in with the action."

End of Chapter 13


	14. Chapter 14

Whitestar 97

Chapter 14

"Dilis!" Firuun's voice would have shaken the rafters, if the Whitestar had rafters. He sprang to meet her, and gave his daughter a heart-touch, with a wide grin on his face. He looked like he wanted to give her a human-style hug instead. "How was your first battle?"

"Awful." She returned the heart-touch, and shook her head. "I'm sorry, father. I so wanted to be the great warrior your potential could make me, since Sharn never could. But I see now, the calling of my heart…" she trailed off.

Firuun's expression sobered. "Of course, combat against other Minbari would be a terrible thing, what was I thinking? We never saw any of that when our world went mad in the clan war. I heard those Windswords who were on Minbar during that time bunkered up in the clan fortress, and no one dared assail us there. The battle out here, against the Shadow vessel, it was glorious, Dilis!"

"Father." She straightened. "I finally have a purpose in life. To heal, not to kill. It does involve Jador's research, but now I mean to save lives with it, not destroy. I found myself in the time rift."

"I see there is a story behind this. Come, let's get everyone settled, there's no need to tell the tale standing in the airlock."

Firuun steered her aside, to let the rest of the returning crew come aboard.

Before she lost her nerve, Dilis rushed out, "The calling of my heart is worker caste."

"Oh, Dilis. Don't be in a hurry. Give yourself time to recover, to think."

"I've had time. I've seen the future, father. I have a destiny."

"To do what?"

"Save the humans. Their planet. Their race."

"Mm. Destiny. And the calling of your heart. Do you know who you sound like?"

"Who?"

"You sound like Delenn. Come." He led her to the viewing room, to have a space for more private speech than the corridor could afford.

"Oh," Dilis said. "Is that good?"

Firuun laughed. "You must tell me your adventures in the time rift."

\

"Here," Ivanova handed Sheridan a mug. "Real coffee."

"Really?" Sheridan took the cup, inhaled deeply, and sipped. "That is good. How's the star patient?"

"Capt. Punch will be fine, the doctor tells me. What's happening with the breakaway government on Tifar?"

"Some kind of mysterious negotiations. Delenn's not saying much. I get the feeling she thinks I should have stayed out of it. And I would have, if she'd told me the problem she was dealing with was Tifar. Well, anyway, that's between me and her. In any case, she doesn't seem inclined to start pitching space debris at the planet. I imagine when it all sorts out the Governor is probably going to end up in prison, which suits me just fine."

"Aren't we supposed to be in favor of independence movements?"

"Not Minbari ones. It's not the same for them."

"If you say so, sir."

"So what was that code Khunnier sent from the Brakiri ship? I thought the commando team was planning to get off world on the Whitestar, and you didn't need any codes."

"There was no code. I just figured out what he meant. Of course it didn't take much thinking to realize the ship trying to leave the planet was probably your replacement ride. That was just confirmation."

"But what did it mean?"

"It was a reference to a conversation Khunnier and I had once. About Jeff Sinclair. About defending civilian ships evacuating a planet, from an attack by warships. WWVD What Would Valen Do."

"Oh. HTL… no. Not…"

"Yes."

"Hold The Line?"

Ivanova nodded. "It's a strange universe."

Sheridan nodded. It was indeed a strange universe. He was going to have a lot to talk about with Delenn when she was done with the 'internal Minbari problem'. That was going to be an awkward conversation.

But it would be better than the one he was having in his mind right then. When he thought about reuniting with Delenn, he kept hearing the prison doctor's lecture on comparative anatomy. 'See, no bone here.' And worse, 'Minbari males are always ready.' It had to be the truth; a Minbari had said it.

Could love really conquer all? Even comparative anatomy? Well, he was sure of one thing: he was never, ever going to discuss that with Delenn.

\

Khunnier found Carla sitting up on a flat bed in the Medusa's sickbay. He made the triangle sign and bowed. Carla returned the greeting.

"I asked the doc how soon I could go home," she said. "He was surprised when I told him I meant my ship."

"The Whitestar is locked on and ready to receive you, Captain."

Carla tottered to her feet. "He said he had to remove part of my stomach. What the hell, maybe I'll lose weight."

Carla staggered a bit, and Khunnier made a gesture toward her arm, as if to support her, but stopped himself.

"It's alright," Carla said quietly. They walked down the corridor and to the airlock. "All I want in the universe right now is a shower."

As the lock cycled, she glanced over at Khunnier and suddenly imagined him with his throat cut. A wide red smile against white skin and white robes and a white deck. Carla blinked the image away.

When she came aboard Whitestar 97, she went directly to the shower, encysted like a pearl in the ship's biocybernetic flesh. She dialed it up very hot and stood in it until the water ran out and the recycling system started running.

Then she went to her sleeping platform, snugged herself in, and wept. Silently. Alone. Until the tears stopped, and she wiped them on her uniform sleeve. When she opened her eyes, for an instant she saw a pile of bodies lying on the deck. Her crew, with their throats slit. Red pools on the living deck.

Then the image was gone.

Khunnier came in. "Do you need some more of those painkillers, Carla? You're very pale."

"No. I'm fine."

For a moment she saw him standing there with his head half off, a red wash down the Ranger uniform he had just put back on. Carla jerked back from the image in terror. Then it was gone.

"Are you—afraid?"

"Not of you, Khunnier. Unquiet ghosts."

"I see. You're afraid of yourself."

"You understand me so well it's uncanny. Are you sure you're not a little bit telepathic?"

"Quite certain. That is deduction. Just as I guessed what your accent meant, when we were students, a lifetime ago."

"So what did you deduce?"

"It's obvious. You've just returned from prison on Tifar. Of course, you cannot help but remember the last time you returned from prison on Tifar."

"We were all released at different times. When we were ready. Finished being loribonded. Given our orders. We all waited for the Day. We knew when the strike was coming and we couldn't say anything to anybody until it was over."

"And did you then? Speak of it, I mean?"

"Oh, god yes. To lawyers. To doctors. There was a military tribunal. And then an appeal. And then there was the support group. Ike and the rest. The one that eventually grew into the FPFP. After Ike brought us to the War Crimes Commission and the world finally heard the truth."

"What is there, then, that still needs to be said?"

"Nothing. I killed my own men, Khunnier. I got up in the middle of the night watch, took out the sentry—it was easy, I was his sergeant, he trusted me—and then I went to each of them one by one and slit their throats. What can I ever say that will change that?"

"I won't bother pointing out that was not your fault. I'm sure you know that, deep in your gut. What's left of it."

"If that's supposed to be funny, keep working on it."

"All the people you mentioned, to whom you spoke of this, are humans. There is one more thing you want to say, isn't there?"

"Yes. Alright, yes, dammit. Dammit! You guys didn't need to do it! You were winning anyway!"

Carla put a hand to her eyes, expecting more tears, but there were none. She opened her eyes and did not see the bloody vision anymore. "Well, what the hell. It worked. For a Ranger, you're a helluva psychologist, Khunnier."

He bowed, Minbari fashion. "The crew await your orders, Captain."

Carla unbuckled and slid to the floor. She walked slowly and carefully, to spare her wounded middle. She sat in her Captain's chair.

"Status."

Khunnier went to his console and reported, "Ship is fully repaired. All surviving crew are returned to full duty status."

"Pilot, take us out."

The navigator asked, "Heading, Captain?"

She was tempted to say, 'away'. But instead she ordered, "Trossi Point." That was away enough. There, they could jump to anywhere unobserved. And they would have plenty of time to pick out likely prospects for Dilis's biotech factory. They would need a backer, probably. Not the Alliance, it might draw attention from their enemies. There were a hundred logistical questions to consider.

But for now, Carla was home. And that was all that mattered.

The End


End file.
